(Cambridge evening streets, 31st October, 2010)
And somehow I've been blogging for four years. Box Elder turned four yesterday (that's dating its inception from the first post anyway, I think I probably opened the blog and stared at it for a few days before that, astonished and inhibited by my own temerity, before I put anything on it), and this is its six-hundred-and-fifty-first post. I marked its first birthday but since then have been inclined to let other anniversaries slip by forgotten and unnoticed, as I almost did with this one. It doesn't seem to mind being thus neglected and taken for granted.
Although I'm not doing anything particularly remarkable here, experiencing any great creative surges, or lavishing the time and effort on blogging that I might and perhaps once did, I do feel that I am presently going through a phase of falling in love with it all over again, mostly because of the contact it has brought and still brings, and all the many and wonderful places it has led. I feel I get back seventy-times-seven, if not more, what I put into it.
I really don't care to imagine life without it now.